Till that Train Makes Santa Fe
by Call Me Personality
Summary: The polio got worse.


**A/N: I don't even know guys. This kind of happened while I was waiting at the dmv, so it's all a blur. It's really angsty, though. Sorry. I'm not sorry. **

**Disclaimer: you're hilarious. **

The polio got worse. Thinking back on it, it seemed unavoidable. Even if the doctors had told him that there was no way that it could spread to his spinal cord, even if they had told him that he would live a full life with the sacrifice of a limb, even if it hadn't bothered him for years. That morning, that fateful morning that he woke up alone in the penthouse, his left leg numb, unable to move, it just seemed so enavitable. He screamed for Davey, for Buttons, for Specks, for anyone to help because the polio got worse.

Not everyone could stay by his side every minute of every day, but they were all there at some point. They all told him to hang in there, to push through, that he'd be selling papes again in no time. He laughed and smiled and promised that he wouldn't give up, but they didn't believe him, because they could see it in his eyes. He had lost the wide-eyes optimism that he had kept for all of those years, because he couldn't move his leg because the polio got worse. But Kathrine and Davey, they were always there. They were there when the others left, they were there when the doctors told him that his arms were next. They were there when he sobbed, they were there when he screamed. They were there when with the very last ounce of strength he had in his arms was used to snap the damned crutch in half. They were always there.

The polio got worse, and he wanted Jack, but Jack was gone. During the winter after the strike, pneumonia seemed to spread like the pleuge through the newsboys. Most of them survived with the occasional bloody cough, but four boys were lost. Les, Race, Romeo, and Jack died that winter. And long after the rest of the boys had left, there were five people left crying over the graves. Davey remained sprawled over Les' small coffin, stifling his sobs, as though he didn't wish to disturb the others. Specks sat with his back against Romeo's coffin and his glasses on the ground as he cried, his head tucked into his knees. Buttons was sucking in small puffs of smoke from one of Race's cigars, not bothering to wipe the silent tears from his cheeks as he whispered to the grave, having a onesided conversation with his brother. And then there were two. Crutchie and Kathrine both leaned up against Jack's Coffin, silently flipping through his many sketch books. A few were to be buried with him, and they had to choose. On one had, they could burry the ones filled with pictures of Santa Fe, on another, they could leave one of the lodging house, but on the other, the could send Jack away with the many skethes of the newsies, one of every boy he had met, and a good few of C

rutchie and Kathrine. In the end, they decided on one of each, to remind Jack where he's been, where he's going, and who all was going to miss him while he was away.

Crutchie remembered that with such detail, but he found himself quietly begging Davey to bring Jack to the hospital.

"Crutch, Jack's gone, donncha remember?" Davey said quietly, as if speaking loudly would break the fragile man in front of him. Of course he remembered. He had to rememember. He had been there. He had cried for months. He had written about it, and drawn pictures about it and felt a gaping hole in his heart, but some part of him now wasn't allowing him to feel that, as though, when his body numbed, so did the pain, as if it had been some cruel joke and wasn't real.

"But where's he gone to?" Crutchie asked. It had to be a joke. It seemed just like something Jack would pull. Scare him for a day, and file into the crowds the next morning to buy his papes and laugh it off. Isn't that what had happened? It wasn't Davey who answered this time, it was Kathrine.

"He went to Santa Fe, Crutchie." Her voice was louder than Davey's, like she knew that no matter what, she could never break Crutchie.

"Without me?" His voice was so broken, so shaky. It was coming any second now, Davey knew. He was already crying. Not again. Not another. Not Crutchie.

"No, no of course not," Kathrine answered, "He just had to get an earlier train than you, because he wanted to be the first person you saw when you got there. We're in the train station now." Crutchie smiled. He could see it. Little by little the picture pieced together like a puzzle, until it seemed so real he believed it. He had Kathrine on his left arm, and Davey on his right. And he was walking. He didn't have his crutch and Davey wasn't dragging his leg, he was honest-to-God walking.

"Do ya see me, Kat, do ya see me walkin'? Do ya?" He spoke the words in quiet excitement, staring down at his feet.

"Yeah, I do." Kathrine said, choking on her years. "You're doing so well. We're almost there." Crutchie had the huge half-grin on his face that he reserved for when he finished selling his papes before everyone else, or when he got Jack some new sketch paper. It was lopsided and funny looking but so very Crutchie and it made Davey want to cry harder.

"Do youse guys think I can run?" Crutchie asked, and he continued to looked at his feet, then to Davey, then to Kathrine. Davey smiled. "Sure you can, Crutch." Davey was crying. Why was he crying? The question didn't last long in his head through because the three of them were running down the platform, something that he hadn't done since he was eight years old. Something he had never dreamed of doing, something Jack had always told him he could do in Santa Fe. They ran until they came to a big red train, the kind that Jack drew when he felt like it. Crutchie beamed as he bounded up the train steps with no aid an picked a cart. He looked down the aisle for Davey and Kathrine, but they weren't there. Looking out of his window, Crutchie spotted them amist a crowd of the rest of the newsboys, all sobbing. He opened the cart widow.

"Ain't youse comin' with me?" He asked, staring at Kat, then Dave, then Kat again.

"Not this time, Crutchie," Kathrine said, wiping a tear away from her cheek, "but we're going to be on the next train, I promise." Crutchie stared at her, and slowly, he nodded.

"I'll see ya soon, then." He said, and the train began to roll away, and Kathrine fell to the ground in tears and Davey held her, but all Crutchie could do was stick his hand out of the window and wave, because he knew where he was headed.

The entire ride was a blur. He didn't remember anything about it, only watching as the old train station turned into a speck on the horizon, and the new one got bigger and bigger. There, on a big wood sign Cructhie read 'Welcome to Santa Fe!' He laughed and he ran off of the train and onto the platform. And there, pushing through a crowd of people that looked so familiar, was one newsboy in blue, ink and paint staining his fingers, a pencil behind his ear, and a gray cap waving wildly in the air screamed his name. There, in the crowd of people was Jack Kelly, waiting for him in Santa Fe.

Just like he'd promised.

**A/N: so that was painful. Interesting fact; there was actually a Newsie named Cructh Morris who had an amputated leg. He died in 1910, so I guess that's when this happened. But yeah. Sorry I continue to kill off your favorite characters!**


End file.
